


Warmer

by Sevi (KelSevi)



Category: Shin Megami Tensei II
Genre: Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 22:36:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8178646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelSevi/pseuds/Sevi
Summary: It’s the third anniversary of Beth’s death. Aleph and Daleth have come to mourn.





	

Flowers. Poppies and crimson roses and irises and purple hyacinth. Even a couple cyclamen, this time around. A spectrum of colors and scents rest in his hands, neatly wrapped up in a bouquet.

They’re the same flowers he brings year after year. They’re readily handpicked by the best florists he knows, and blessed by the local priest. A Messian, he recalls. Still as devoted as always.

The sun has only just begun to rise, and his shadow in turn extends far past him as he walks. Oranges tinged with sickly greens and purples fill the sky above Holytown, and clouds - undoubtedly ready to pour acid rain down on the faraway mountains beyond the self-contained environment of Tokyo Millennium - quickly shape themselves.

Part of him is glad they can’t touch her grave. It would kill the massive colorful garden growing on her.

Aleph approaches her grave, careful not to step on any stray flowers growing further away from her patch of ground, and kneels beside a small headstone. It’s made of marble, and quite dusty since the last time he’s seen it. Gently, he washes a hand over the stone and brushes away the dirt collected on top of it. Inscribed on the stone is her name, and an epitaph.

“BETH - PROTECTOR OF PEACE, LOVED BY ALL”

He feels warm inside. It’s the same warmth he felt last year, and the year before that, and the year before that; an indescribable warmth that fills his lungs, and spreads over his cheeks, and burns his stomach. Every part of him is warm, even down to his toes.

He wishes he could wax poetic about this warmth, but more than anything it makes him want to puke.

Gently, he sets the bouquet of flowers down beside her grave. A soft wind picks up, and he glances up to see her sword sticking out of the ground, and her cape waving about on top of it. Just as he had left them, but the sword has tilted since the last time he saw it. Perhaps someone had accidentally taken it out, or moved it.

No one ever attempts to take the sword or cape for themselves. The cape is tattered and blood-stained, and otherwise worthless. The sword, bent. Not even a garbage collector would take them. And even if they did…

Aleph shakes his head. He would not let rage consume him. Not in Beth’s name, not in her memory. But he isn’t the only one who cares for her so.

“Aleph.”

Aleph stands straight and glances around. Standing on the opposite side of the grave (also quite careful not to trample on any poor flowers) is Daleth.

Daleth.

The heat in Aleph’s chest grows. He smiles, even though he wants to rip his own heart out.

“Hey.” He extends a hand out to Daleth, and the other man takes his and shakes it. A powerful grip, unsurprisingly coming from a powerful swordsman.

He wonders if his grip was this tight when he thrust his sword out and–

“Cyclamen, huh…” Daleth kneels down to get a better look. He sighs through his nose and nods. “Do you know the meaning of cyclamen, Aleph?”

Aleph shakes his head. That’s a lie, actually. He asked the florist who supplied him what it meant in flower language, and she said something like… “goodbye, I guess?”

“They’re poisonous flowers. So they’re tied to death.” Daleth absentmindedly picks through some of the flowers growing on Beth’s grave - carefully, cautiously, so as to not uproot or depetal any - and hums. “They’re used to express retirement, and to say goodbye. Where did you find these?”

Aleph shrugs, and examines Daleth while he’s still on the ground. There are no flowers on his person. In fact, he hadn’t brought any flowers since the year they sprung up on Beth’s grave. Instead, he would bring material possessions - handmade pots, crude jewelry, and even small articles of clothing would be placed on her headstone. It was nothing fancy, but Aleph could tell the kind of time and energy Daleth poured into every gift he bore.

And it made Aleph feel warmer. Not angry, mind you; he has long since given up being angry at Daleth. Consciously, he knows he does not hate him. Consciously, he knows he has forgiven him. But, still…!

Daleth slides a small necklace on Beth’s headstone and sits down proper, crossing his legs beneath him and resting his arms in his lap. He stares up at Aleph, waiting for him to join in.

Aleph sits down, refusing to afford Daleth even a fraction of his sight. He can feel the petty tension rise between the two of them, as it does every year. Every year, he can feel Daleth judging him for not letting go of the past. Every year, he can feel his own hot shame and guilt wash over him, sharing Beth’s space with her murderer, and with the man who could not protect her.

Every year, he hates himself for subconscious and unfounded fears. For regrets three years too old, three years too late. For being too weak to truly forgive, too weak to truly move on.

Daleth has changed. He changed three years ago, before his very eyes.

Why can’t Aleph change, too?

* * *

Daleth does not dare badger Aleph in front of Beth’s grave. It is improper and rude, to both Beth as the deceased and Aleph as a fellow mourner. But he cannot help but wonder why Aleph is (quite badly) pretending not to cry.

He does not ask. Daleth respectfully bows his head and prays under his breath. Only the sound of wind, Aleph’s irregular breathing, and his own breath can be heard in this remote corner of Holytown.

Silence eats at them for a whole fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes, they are alone together, with their thoughts to keep them.

And then Aleph speaks.

“Daleth, I…” His voice is shaky, and he sounds unsure of himself. Daleth looks up, curious. Aleph only ever sounds unsure of himself when he has a secret to admit.

“I know this isn’t the best time to ask this. But I don’t think there will ever be a good time to ask this. It’s been eating away at me for three years… and, I know it sounds bad, but I can’t think of any other way to say it, and…”

Daleth calmly holds a hand up to silence Aleph. “If you have something to say, come out and say it.” A bad feeling creeps up and into his heart.

… … …

“…Which one of us is to blame for her death?”

Daleth’s hands ball up into fists. He hoped that this conversation would never come up. He smiles a hostile smile and shakes his head.

“You were right. There is no good time to ask that.”

Aleph mumbles a half-hearted apology, and they are quiet again for five minutes.

Daleth feels a warmth inside him, too. He touches his chest, and sighs. For this to torment and fester inside the Messiah for a whole three years, it must be too important to dismiss.

He mentally asks Anoon to give him strength, even though he knows she cannot hear him or read his mind. And then, he speaks:

“…She would not want me to hold a grudge against you.”

“Yes. I know.”

“And I am sure the same goes for you to me.”

“… I know.”

“So, what is it that you want from me then? An apology?”

“No, that isn’t what I…”

Daleth gives Aleph a pointed look. “It has been three years. I’m sorry I can’t bring her back, and I’m sorry that you’re still suffering. But you’re not the only one mourning her.”

Aleph responds with a dejected look, and he slowly nods. Before he can look away, Daleth continues.

“But she still loved you. Isn’t that right? Even after everything was said and done… There is no other explanation for why she would have wanted us both to live. She would not let me kill you…”

And she refused to let Aleph slay Daleth, in turn.

Aleph starts to cry again.

* * *

At the local bar, Aleph slurs yet another apology to Daleth, and admits his true feelings.

“Geez, you really thought I had forgiven you?” Daleth asks, somewhat annoyed. “And after all this time I thought… man, you really do trust me.”

Aleph blinks in surprise, and cocks his head to one side. “You don’t forgive me? Wh-what’d I shpend all that time freakin’ out over for, then?”

“I mean. I don’t hate you, don’t get me wrong.” Daleth takes a shot, mindful not to drink to excess like Aleph had. “But you did kick my ass several times, and then shut me out after the Millennium crisis was over. What else was I supposed to think? Shit, this could have been resolved a long time ago if you had just come and talked to me in the first place.”

Aleph sheepishly plays with his empty shot glass. “Um… shorry. I, uh… I guess it’s not much, but let me pay for the… the drinks.” This is not how he wanted to spend the third year without Beth, but alcohol was very much needed to soothe him.

Daleth snorts and waves his hand nonchalantly. Whatever, he thinks. He would have liked to get a jumpstart on this relationship three years ago, but if this is how it has to be, then he supposes he’s just going to have to live with it.

It’s what Beth would have wanted, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> ...and they lived happily ever after and no one ever hurt alone ever again
> 
> This is the first fanfic I've written in years, and I wrote it about 4 months ago, so it might be a tad awkward and stilted for a first attempt.


End file.
